


Queen. Knight. Castle.

by stereolightning (phalaenopsis)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chess Metaphors, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalaenopsis/pseuds/stereolightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During their fifth year and the summer after, Lily and Severus fall in and out of each other's good graces. In the background, Marauders are marauding and Aurors are training. </p><p>Eleven interconnected scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Middlegame

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a series of one-shots.

"Why are you doing it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Without magic."

Lily looked up from the emerald and silver scarf she was knitting and took a sip of her overly-sugared tea. Chilly December sleet had sent them into the cafe, and anyway they were too old for Hogsmeade's joke shops and candy shops anymore.

"I dunno. I like it. I like doing it," she said.

"You're wasting your time like that," Severus said, sinking lower into the threadbare armchair and peering at her over his battered copy of _Advanced Potionmaking_.

"Yeah. Maybe. So what?"

"So I _know_ you. I know what you can do." He was crossing something out emphatically in the margins of his book. His fingers were stained with ink.

"Is that a compliment? I can never tell with you."

He stopped scribbling and met her eyes. He raised one eyebrow. "It's your turn," he said.

She looked down at the chess pieces. Some of them gazed up at her with quizzical expressions, wondering what to do next. She considered them. "Knight to F6," she said.

Her knight seized Severus' pawn by the shoulders and threw it off the board, sending it halfway across the table. She caught the struggling pawn with one hand and set it in the neat row of black pieces she had won from him.

Severus leaned forward, not bothering to sweep his dark hair out of his eyes as he bent over the board.

"You should get your eyes checked," she said. "Maybe you need glasses."

"No, I don't," he said, not looking up from the game. "Queen to A7."

"Bollocks," she muttered as he collected her rook and set it in his own cache of her ivory pieces.

"Maybe if you were paying attention to the game..." He trailed off.

She took another sip of tea. Yes, five sugars was at least one too many. "What makes you think I'm not paying attention?"

He went back to his book, half his face hidden behind his tufty grey quill. He sorely needed a new one. He did not answer.

"What's wrong with your tea?" she asked.

"S'fine," he said.

"You haven't touched it."

"M'not that hungry. Thirsty. Whatever." He started scribbling again. He seemed to be working something out as he went along.

"Alright, whatever," she said. "Pawn to E3. You do that essay for Binns?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what? Goblin rebellions. Same shit as always. Waste of time," he said.

He bent low over the board again, considering his next move, still holding his tatty quill in his left hand.

"Why are you so worried about wasting time all of a sudden?" she asked.

He looked up and ran his finger over his thin mouth, considering her, considering the game, thinking two thoughts at once. Or perhaps more than two. "I just don't like pointless tasks," he said at last.

It wasn't only this newfound obsession with time, though, she reflected. All of his priorities seemed to be shifting, like steel shavings drawn to a magnet, like grit circling a drain. Moving imperceptibly at first, but lately, faster and faster. Sometimes the things that came out of his mouth were so -

"Castle," he said. His rook and king changed places. "I make time for you."

Lily finished her tea and pondered the sodden tea leaves spread like washed-up kelp along the bottom of her cup. "What do you reckon?" she asked, holding the cup out to him. "Specter of death or a couple of puffskeins on holiday in Majorca?"

They both loathed Divination and had given it up a year prior. But it always made for a good laugh between them. Prophesies, they agreed, were a load of shit.

He accepted her teacup and turned it around and around in his hand. He tapped his finger lazily on the rim. "Honestly? Looks more like a lightning bolt."

She finished a row of stitches and started to purl.

"Suppose that's a sign we're stuck in here for the foreseeable future," she said, nodding at the window, where frozen rain was still pelting down on the village.

He handed the cup back to her. "Suppose so," he said, a smile pulling up one side of his mouth. He buried his nose in his book again and settled even deeper into his chair.

The storm clouds grew thicker and darker, and hail began to beat an arrhythmic tattoo on the roof. Lily and Severus spent the next hour in near-silence. She ordered more tea.

Their game ended in stalemate, with two lonely kings and their bishops wandering the empty board like vagabonds.


	2. Auld Lang Syne

Severus typically spent the Christmas holidays at home in the hope that he would have Lily Evans all to himself, even if only for a few stolen moments, and even if he had to put up with Petunia's ugly sneer from across the sitting room. However, this year, their fifth year, Lily's family had gone abroad, and she had stayed at Hogwarts, so he had stayed, too.

He waited for her, leaning against a cold stone pillar in the castle courtyard. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night. Fifth years and above had been allowed to visit Hogsmeade for the New Year celebration. The prospect of an entire night in her company was a better gift than any he had actually received for Christmas. He passed the time by setting dead leaves on fire and extinguishing them with quick flicks of his wand.

Yards away, a knot of Hufflepuff fifth-years gossiped and giggled, shoulder to shoulder against the cold. A slightly larger group of Gryffindor boys formed a circle behind them. Potter was not among them. But Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were there, and Severus rolled his eyes as the shorter, rounder boy broke rank and approached him.

Severus looked up at the upturned bowl of night sky. Stars spread across it, glinting like ground-up beetle wings in a mortar and pestle. He could hear Peter's shoes shuffling closer.

"Piss off, Pettigrew," he said.

"Sirius says to tell you that-"

"I said _piss off_ , Pettigrew." Severus swiped his wand through the air and shot a flaming leaf within inches of Peter's face. "And you can tell Sirius Black to deliver his own damn messages."

Peter narrowed his watery eyes and chewed his lip. Was that plonker actually having a _thought_?, Severus wondered.

"Wash your hair sometime, Snivellus," said Peter at last. Peter's invective had always lacked the creativity of his friends'.

Across the yard, Lily emerged from the castle, wearing her brown tweed coat and a huge purple muffler. She struck up a conversation with a tall Ravenclaw boy near the entrance. Her gloved hands gestured animatedly, like hopping songbirds.

Peter followed Severus' gaze. Then he turned back and made a horribly smug, knowing face.

"You know she's going out with Vikram Patil now, don't you?" asked Peter. "He's very good-looking."

Severus glared at Peter and raised his wand, which spat out a few red sparks without his meaning to.

Peter retreated a few steps, muttering under his breath.

Lily bounded up to them, waving brightly. Peter clicked his tongue and skulked away.

"What's his problem?" asked Lily.

"He's a twat," said Severus. "What took you so long?"

She shook her head, her expression half-reproving, half-amused. "Happy New Year to you, too."

Severus felt his anger and annoyance bleeding into his voice. "I've been down here since ten. I thought we were going to go to the greenhouses before-"

"Sorry. I couldn't get away. There was a scandal in the girls' dormitory. Did you know there is now a black market in Muggle contraceptives?"

"No."

"Well, I'm going to ask Flitwick to teach everyone some proper charms for that. It's a matter of public health." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and rubbed her hands together. "It is bludgering cold out here. Oh! Speaking of."

She took a fluffy green bundle from under her arm and thrust it into his hands.

"Early birthday present," she said. "Or late Christmas. Whichever you prefer."

He unfolded the bundle. It was a knobbly, homemade scarf. Dark green, with slightly lopsided silver stripes.

"I finished it!" she said, unable to contain her enthusiasm. She took one end from him and looped it twice around his neck. She grinned, bouncing on her toes and tapping her fingers with anticipation and glee. "Well? What do you think?"

He ran his finger along the scarf, examining the texture of the stitches. He had watched her knitting it during spare moments for weeks. That day in the library. That rainy afternoon in Hogsmeade. He had not realized she had intended it for him. He smiled weakly, which she seemed to accept as thanks.

"Brought this, too," she said, removing several lumps of coal from her coat pockets.

He frowned. "What's that for?"

She smiled up at him, glowing with moonlight. "First footing! Lovely Scottish New Year's custom. Supposed to be good luck for a dark-haired man to be the first to enter your house at New Year. And to leave coal for good fortune. I brought lots."

And, without even asking for permission, she started stuffing the coal into the pockets of his robes. His stomach turned over at the feel of her hands squirming around in his clothing. She giggled at what he presumed was an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"You don't _have_ to," she said. "But someone might _ask_ you. It's _sweet_. Hang on, what's this?"

She drew his second-hand hip flask from his pocket and shook it like a child trying to guess the contents of a wrapped present.

"Whisky? Potion? Human blood?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in mock accusation.

He crossed his arms. "Coffee."

She beamed. "Brilliant! Share?"

He waved his hand at her. "Go on."

She unscrewed the cap and drank. Instantly, she winced and puckered her lips, laughing through her nose. "Fuck, that is strong coffee. Is this how you're pulling off these marathon study sessions?"

She handed the flask back to him. He tipped it back into his mouth and tasted her lip gloss on the rim. Something Muggle and cloying and fruity. Raspberry?

"Mind you, wouldn't kill you to put some sugar in. Or cream, at least. Soften that bitter edge," she said.

"Says the witch who puts peppermint and coriander in potions at random." He stuffed his wand back under his robes.

She grinned. "All right, Sev?"

"I'm fine."

"You look vexed."

He gazed over the top of her head and scanned the students emerging from the castle. A few teachers had started chivvying them toward the path that led to the gates. "Are you going out with him?"

"Who?"

"Vikram," he grunted.

She shrugged. "Sort of. Maybe. I don't know."

He huffed in irritation.

"What? What's wrong with Vikram? He's really nice."

His fist clenched and unclenched of its own accord in his pocket. "He's way too old for you. And – _and_ – I thought his parents were trying to get him to marry some cousin of his, overseas."

"So. Who says I'm looking for commitment?"

"Ugh."

She rolled her eyes. "You are worse than my Dad. You never think anybody is good enough for me."

"No. Not Vikram bloody Patil, anyway. Come on, Lily, he's a shallow pretty boy with no fucking substance."

"So he's handsome. You can't hold that against him. He can't help how he looks any more than you or I can. Besides, he's really lovely once you get to know him. And funny."

"Pfft. I heard he failed his Transfiguration OWL."

She swatted playfully at his upper arm. "When _you_ get a girlfriend, I'm going to take the piss out of her. See how you like it. Come on, let's go get a carriage together before they all fill up."

.*.*.*.*.

Lily had never known Hogsmeade to be this noisy. The residents had set up a carnival in the street, complete with with a coconut shie and a kissing booth. Rowdy torch-bearers formed a procession in front of the shops, and enchanted fireballs floated twenty feet in the air. A witch she recognized as a barmaid from the Three Broomsticks thrust a cup of hot mulled wine into Lily's hand.

"Ta!" Lily said. "Happy New Year."

The wine was too hot and too sweet, but it was welcome after the bitter coffee, and she delighted in the warm steam swirling around the frozen tip of her nose.

A flurry of snowflakes dropped softly to earth. Severus flicked his wand at them, melting them one by one, as if killing flies. The left side of his face twitched into a vicious sneer every time he fired.

"Cut that out," she hissed.

He looked up as if unsure what she was talking about.

"Quit doing that to the snow," she said.

"It's not hurting you," he muttered, stowing his wand again.

She thrust her wine at him. "Drink," she said.

He took an awkward swig and winced from the sweetness. "Christ."

Lily stifled a snort of laughter by pretending to wipe her mouth on her sleeve.

Part of her wanted to steer him over to that kissing booth – because a good firm snog would probably do him some good, honestly – but she refrained from doing so. He would almost certainly row with her if she suggested it. And the night was going so well.

So she listened to his conspiracy theories about the various other booths instead. He seemed to be convinced that all the games were rigged.

.*.*.*.*.

Lily surveyed the alley behind Honeyduke's with a familiar, mischievous expression that Severus found both endearing and annoying.

"Come on, let's go up on the roof," she said, walking ahead.

He hung back, fiddling with the ends of his scarf. "I don't think we're allowed."

"Oh, live a little. I bet there's loads of people up on their roofs to watch the fireworks." She made a move toward the side of the shop, her fingers waggling wildly in thought.

"What are you doing?"

"If we climb up this drain pipe-"

"Stop, stop. You're a _prefect_."

"Shhh. I'm out of my jurisdiction. Out here, I'm just another delinquent wizard youth." She stepped up onto a bend in the pipe and squeezed her other foot into a notch between two bricks.

He kicked a patch of dead grass in front of him. "What's wrong with you lately?"

She scrabbled at the drain pipe, losing her foothold. "What's wrong with _you_ lately?"

He groaned. "If we're going to sneak around, we can at least do it without endangering our lives. Come on. Come down."

He jerked his head in the direction of the Hog's Head. She raised her eyebrows.

"There's a way up," he said.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Alright."

She turned and followed him down the street. Villagers and visitors spilled out of the bar in a pool of yellowish torchlight. Severus slipped between them, but a couple of rowdy boys passed close behind him and he lost track of Lily. He stood still for a moment, scanning the vortex of limbs and hats and flagons of mead that revolved around him. Then, suddenly, he felt a warm set of fingers wrap around his own. He looked up.

"Don't let go," Lily said. "There's a creepy-looking bloke behind me and I'm pretty sure he's a vampire."

He nodded and clasped her hand tighter. Together they snaked through the carousing drunks and tipsy barmaids, narrowly avoiding a very red-faced Professor Slughorn who looked like he wanted to drag Lily into conversation with the throng of Slug Club alumni hovering around him. Severus liked the feel of this – of Lily's hand locked around his, holding him with light pressure, trusting him. It was like when they were kids, when she would tag along with him to secret corners of the playground. Once or twice he feinted left just so he could feel her bear down a little harder.

He mused that if he were a different person, some self-satisfied romantic git in a film maybe, he might have pulled up short and kissed her hand. And maybe her lips, too. However, he had decided a long time ago that it would have to be Lily who made the first move. He had cocked it up too many times already by doing the wrong thing and incurring her displeasure. No, it was his job to make her _want_ to make the first move. To do something suitably impressive. This was not chivalry – this was _strategy._

He led her up a narrow, damp-smelling staircase, across a carpeted landing, and down a mercifully empty corridor. Dropping her hand at last, he unlatched a window and pushed it open. The cold night air washed across him. Without explaining himself, he climbed up onto the window ledge and skittered across to a small balcony that belonged to an unoccupied room. She followed him, looking amused and surprised as she grabbed onto the railing and threw her leg over the side.

"How did you know this was here?" she asked.

"I know _things_ ," he said in what he hoped was a cool, enigmatic tone. In truth, he had used this particular vantage point to spy on James Potter more than once.

Lily made an impressed sort of noise through her nose. His chest burned with satisfaction.

She sat down on the edge of the balcony and threaded her legs through the bars, dangling her feet over the edge. He imitated her. His legs were longer, but only just.

She kicked sideways, tapping his boot with hers. "D'you reckon whosever room this is will come back anytime soon?"

He looked out at the raucous celebration below. "Doubt it."

She nodded, looking around. "I like this. We'll be able to see the whole thing. This is perfect."

He felt the burning, warm sensation in his chest again.

.*.*.*.*.

Sev looked almost happy, which was rare indeed.

He turned his wand around and around, rotating his wrist in figure eights, and she knew he was tinkering again. Inventing spells in his head. He had showed her a few lately. Some were sort of good – that one that filled your neighbors' ears with untraceable buzzing was awfully handy, for example – but some of them hinted at a vindictive streak that made her cringe.

She shook her head, dislodging the uncomfortable idea that was trying to take root. "So. What are your resolutions?" she asked.

He frowned. "Am I supposed to have more than one?"

She shrugged. "What's your resolution, singular, then?"

He considered this. At last he said, "To accomplish something that's worth a damn."

She felt her eyes widen in surprise. His words struck her as uncharacteristically idealistic, and she liked it. "Cheers," she said.

"What's yours?"

She looked heavenward for a moment. "The same, actually."

His dark eyes darted to hers, piercing yet inscrutable. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he did not. She wondered if he had been about to make a catty remark, or, possibly, if he wanted to say something nice and did not know how.

She pulled back her sleeve and checked her red plastic watch. "Ten minutes to midnight. Haven't got any more of that coffee, have you?"

He pressed the flask into her hand.

"Thanks," she said.

She took a sip and handed it back to him. He finished it off in one.

She cupped her hands together and blew hot breath into the hollow, trying to bring heat and circulation back into her face.

.*.*.*.*.

The first firework whistled and exploded, spattering the night sky with golden points of light. He could taste her lipgloss again, though it was fading, dissolving. He fiddled idly with the rim of the flask in his pocket.

"Ah!" Lily sighed, dropping her hands to her lap.

The villagers started singing in the street below, their voices a mix of drunken and giddy, deep and high.

" _Should old acquaintance be forgot,_

_and never brought to mind?"_

The next three fireworks spun like pinwheels in a rainbow of colors. A fifth firework transformed into a phoenix and flapped its massive, fiery wings. Lily leaned back to get a better view.

She turned to him, grinning. Her lips were still stained slightly redder than usual with wine. "Sometimes I forget that magic is so... magical," she said.

He snorted derisively.

Her grin melted into a frown with alarming speed. "You know what I mean. Don't be such a killjoy."

"Fine. I'll try not to be in future."

She raised her eyebrows.

He spat out an exasperated breath. "What d'you want me to do? Fucking – juggle and tell jokes?"

She chuckled, seemingly in spite of herself. "Okay. I see your point. But you could learn how to apologize."

He dropped his gaze below their dangling boots. The people in the pub stumbled out into the street to join the chorus. Lily hummed along with them.

" _We two have paddled in the stream_

_from morning sun til dine,_

_But seas between us broad have roared_

_since auld lang syne..."_

The fireworks came one after another now, a coral reef of turquoise and purple flames, flickering, darting, dying. The rumbling explosions vibrated up through the building. Lily let out a long, pleased laugh, which hit the cold air and turned instantly into a white plume of fog.

Severus watched her laugh float away.

This year, he vowed, would be better. This year he would make up for lost time.

And, as an afterthought, he resolved that Vikram Patil could go fuck himself.

As the fireworks reached a crescendo of noise and light, Lily took his hand in hers and squeezed it. He looked down at their interlaced fingers. The flickering lights washed tides of color over them – red, gold, green.

He felt buoyant with hope, for once.

He took a cigarette from a battered pack in his pocket, lit it, and offered her a drag. He watched her mouth close over the paper tip. 

"You're a terrible influence," she said with a smirk.

He pushed his oily hair out of his eyes. "You going to give that back?"

She flicked ash off the balcony, simultaneously transfiguring it into snow with her wand. "Nope."

He lit another and they smoked in silence.

Later, on the carriage ride back to Hogwarts, Lily fell asleep next to him. He listened to her rhythmic breathing and watched her eyelashes flutter with dreams he could not fathom. As the carriage turned a corner in a grove of pine trees, her head fell onto his shoulder and her hair spilled down the front of his robes. He held perfectly still.

She trusted him. That was a start.


	3. Lost in Translation

Like the proverbial frog boiled alive in the slowly heated pot of water, Lily had not noticed the subtle shift in mood during her customary Wednesday night study sessions in the library with Severus. But she noticed that he began to leave them early, with odder and paltrier excuses, until, by January of their fifth year, he didn't bother with excuses at all.

"Who are you meeting, again?" she said, not quite taking her eyes off of her Charms notes as he pushed in his high-backed chair and flung his bag over one hunched shoulder.

"Mulciber," he said, not looking at her, either.

"Right, well, enjoy yourself." She said this without raising her voice, but she felt a pang of something.

"Yeah. You mistranslated this," he said coolly, pointing to her scroll of homework, one ink-stained finger sliding across her line of vision. "It's _Sempra_ , not _Semper_."

She frowned.

When she finally looked up, he was already a small, dark shape at the far end of the library, walking twitchily out the door.

He was right, though. _Sempra_. Roughly equivalent to the word "always."

She corrected her homework in silence and exited the library without further event, other than a narrowly missed encounter with Peeves, who was carrying what looked like an oversize blancmange and a trumpet.

She found Remus Lupin sitting cross-legged on the crimson common room sofa with his eyes closed. He might have been meditating.

"Good evening, Siddhartha," she said, sitting down next to him.

He smiled that particular Remus smile – half-boyish, half-ancient. "Good evening," he said without opening his eyes. He looked tired.

She popped her knuckles one by one and looked at a curious little scratch that ran from behind his ear to below his shirt collar.

"Question for you," she said.

His eyes flicked open. "Yes?"

"What do you do when your friend makes a new friend who's a horrible prick?"

"All my friends _are_ horrible pricks," he said.

"Good point," she said, tilting her head to one side. "How do you cope?"

He considered this. "Not especially well, I suppose. But affection makes an idiot of me."

"Yeah. It's the same with me," she said. "God. It is so effing hard sometimes."

He raised one eyebrow with interest. "Who are we talking about?"

She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're the only nice bloke I know," she said.

"I'm a lot less nice below the surface," he said cryptically. "By the way, happy birthday. It's tomorrow, isn't it?"

She laughed. "You're failing to convince me that you're not a nice bloke, Remus. You remembered my birthday."

He shrugged. "I pay a lot of attention to calendars," he said.

She pinched his arm. "That's got nothing to do with it."

"Ow."

"Sorry," she said.

"You should go out with James."

"James _Potter_? Why would I do that?"

"Because you're both relentlessly idealistic. And mildly abusive."

"Hey," she said, laughing despite herself. "I was trying to underscore my point. Which was that you're a lovely person. I'd rather go out with you, to be honest."

She felt his whole body tense.

"Sorry, did I say something wrong?" she asked.

He rubbed his eyes, looking even more tired than before. "No. You didn't. Anyway, I should go to bed."

"Alright." She shifted to one side as he stood up and collected his books. "Goodnight, Siddhartha."

"Goodnight, birthday witch."

She padded up to the girls' dormitories a few minutes later. The house elves had arranged her birthday presents in a neat pile at the foot of her bed. Petunia had sent a pair of clogs so ugly that Lily wondered if it was meant as a joke. A few of Lily's girlfriends had given her sweets and pop records. Lily nibbled on a square of Honeyduke's and changed into her pyjamas.

The next morning at breakfast, Severus stopped her in the entrance hall by the door.

"Here," he said, pressing a heavy second-hand book into her arms. "Didn't have time to wrap it."

She looked down at it. _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi._

"This is your copy," she said.

He shook his head. "No. It's yours." He opened it to the first page, the margins of which were filled with his cramped, detailed notes and tiny drawings. He pushed it toward her again. "I made some corrections. And additions. It's much more useful now."

She flipped through the book. Every single page had been annotated. She frowned. "But this must have taken you ages."

He blinked at her.

"Thank you. You didn't have to," she said.

"Wouldn't have done it for anybody. But it's you."

She blushed. He held her gaze for far too long and with far too much intensity, like always. He looked so earnest right now, with his ridiculous hair and the funny way he did up the buttons on his robes. A paroxysm of affection gripped her. She squeezed him in a one-armed hug, still holding the book in her other hand.

"I don't know what to say," she said.

"Say you'll use it," he said.

"I will." As she let go of him, she noticed the knot of Slytherin boys that had accumulated a few yards away. One of them appraised her with his eyes in a way that made her uncomfortable. Severus nodded at them.

"I have to go," he said.

Then he joined his new friends and left the hall without a backward glance.

She opened the book to a random page, which turned out to be in the "S" section.

_703\. Shrivelfig._

_704\. Snakewort._

_705\. Snare, Devil's._

In the margin between two facing pages, almost hidden by the binding, he had written one word which was apparently unrelated to any of the surrounding text.

_Sempra._

Whether this was part of a homemade spell or had some other cryptic meaning, she was never sure.


	4. Dark Tunnels

The two boys had not spoken for several minutes. Never in their lives had they been in such close proximity without hexing or insulting one another. However, Severus' arms were still scratched from where James had forcibly pulled him away from the entrance to the shrieking shack, and James' left ear was still ringing from where Severus had yelled directly into it.

James kicked a bit of leaf litter as he walked. He had just saved Snape's life. That, and somehow, walking quietly together created a bizarre intimacy between them. And maybe it was because he was away from his friends, or because his heart was still pumping with adrenaline and protective instinct, but James didn't particularly feel like teasing Snape at the moment. He felt weirdly civil.

James cleared his throat. “What're you talking about with Evans all the time?”

“Fuck off, Potter,” said Severus. “This doesn't change anything. So don't act like I owe you.”

James clucked his tongue. “Fine. I just wondered what the hell she sees in you.”

“S'none of your goddamn business.”

They both bent lower as the tunnel narrowed and tilted upward.

“It just doesn't make sense to me. Why a witch like her spends time on a git like you.”

“Christ, learn to shut your mouth, Potter.” Snape's dark eyes darted furtively across his shoulder. The scrabbling and whining of the wolf was still audible.

“He can't get out,” said James, sensing Snape's fear. “I set a shield charm.”

Severus spat. “Serve you right if he kills you. You know he would, given the chance.”

James' temper flared. He grabbed Snape's robes and pinned him against the earth wall, dislodging a miniature avalanche of pebbles and dust. “The fuck's your problem?”

“Don't fucking touch me!”

Jaws clenched. Fingers itched for their wands. Hearing the boys' shouts, the wolf howled. 

“I said – the fuck's – your problem!”

Severus shot a homemade hex at James, and at close range, it found its mark easily, slashing James across the arm, drawing blood. James did not seem even to notice. His hackles were raised.

“Don't talk like that about him!” James yelled. “You have no idea what he goes through! No! Fucking! Clue!”

Severus' suspicions had been confirmed, however, and his fury burst forth. “Go to hell! She's my friend, not yours, so shut up about it!”

They stared into each other's faces, eyes locked in unadulterated loathing, wands pointed.

Finally, James let go of Severus. Then, thinking of Moony and the threat Snape now posed if he chose to reveal his furry little problem, he reconsidered this mercy and shot a stinging hex at Snape's ankle. Severus staggered ahead, walking backward, wand extended dangerously.

“This changes nothing,” Severus said. "I hope the whole lot of you gets expelled."

James threw up his arms in anger and disgust. “Piss off back to the dungeons. And don't come sneaking around in here again.”

Moonlight spilled through the entrance below the willow's swaying branches. Severus tapped the knot and ran toward the castle.

James extracted his invisibility cloak from under his robes and threw it over himself. He wondered if Moony would have any recollection of this tomorrow. Because he owed Sirius a punch in the face, at the very least, for sending Snape down here.

He probably wouldn't do it, though. Moony was way too nice.

James watched the batlike shape half-flying toward the entrance hall, silhouetted by moonlight. This much had become clear to him – Snape fancied Evans as much as he did. And the bastard was already very much in her good graces.

The thought made James want to howl his lament into the night. But just at that moment, Moony did it for him.


	5. Muffliato

Lily had gotten a trendy, too-short haircut. Severus didn't normally notice that kind of thing, but he noticed it on her. He noticed he didn't find her any less compelling this way.

A sharply sweet smelling vapor rose from both their cauldrons – citrus. Grass. Quinine. Slughorn was making the rounds.

She elbowed Severus in the ribs. He knew instantly what she wanted, and he obliged.

"Muffliato," he mouthed.

"Crush it, don't cut it," she hissed.

"What?"

"Crush," she said, flattening her hand like a blade and smacking it against the pod tucked under her knife. "See?"

"Oh. I thought that was another lyric from that bloody album." Lily had spent all last summer subjecting him to her music collection. She liked to lie supine on her bed with her eyes closed and legs flat against the poster-studded wall, swimming in a sonic cocktail of something something Major Tom, while he lay on the pink shag carpet and read books, or tried to, or pretended to.

"No."

"Oh. That does work," he said, imitating her trick with the seedpod and studying the effect.

"Yes, it does, you berk," she said, flicking a dried beetle at him. "Why are you so disdainful of muggle music?"

"You only like it because you fancy him."

"Who? The thin white duke?" she asked, smiling, incredulous. "Well, you're not wrong. He is quite fanciable."

"Ugh," he said, now making short work of a knarl quill.

"You don't even like Beatles? Or the Stones? Or Elton?"

"Lil, will you stop trying to-"

" _I'm not the man they think I am at home, oh no, no, no_... How can you not love it?"

"Contrary to popular opinion, I am not some –" he fished for a suitably ironic phrase – "wide-eyed ingenue."

She snorted, annoyed yet amused. "Oh, I would never accuse you of that. Does this charm work on singing, or only talking?"

"I can't honestly say that I've tested that."

"Well, you had better close that loophole, hadn't you."

Snip. _Slice._ A little too forcefully. A knarl quill skittered across the work surface.

They both continued cutting roots and seedpods in silence. As usual, he organized everything in rows and right angles, while she worked more haphazardly, but with an improvisational sensibility. As if everything was _fun_.

"Can I have a bit of your borage?" she asked.

"Fine."

"My mum grows borage. In the back garden. Apparently the bees like it." She held the blue flowers to her face and closed her eyes.

"Yes. Also called bee balm. For that reason."

"There you go. Funny how some magical herbs make it into muggle gardens."

"S'whatever."

"I think it's quite lovely. The magic hiding among the mundane. And it's supposed to be cheering, borage. Victorian ladies used to put them in their drinks as an antidepressant."

"Are you going to talk through this entire lesson?"

"No. Am I bothering you?"

"You're acting... chipper."

"But am I bothering you?"

He suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable. He wiped a bead of sweat from between his eyes.

"Fuck, Lil – yes."

"Alright, fine, suit yourself, no more talking," she said.

She dropped a jar of pickled scarabs and it exploded on the floor.


	6. Thought We Were Supposed To Be Friends

They had fought on the way to Hogsmeade, and in Severus' mind, the most salient point of it had been that Lily called James Potter an arrogant toerag. He hadn't really listened to what she'd said after. Something about Avery and Mulciber, who she didn't like for some reason.

Apparently she felt bad about arguing with him, because she bought him a sugar quill in Honeyduke's. He had no fondness for sweets of any kind, but he accepted it. They made the usual rounds through the shops and attractions, feeling acutely that, at sixteen, they were too old for this. There were things far more important now than frog spawn soap and nose-biting teacups. There were alliances to form and futures to secure. There was a whole world outside Hogwarts waiting for them, and what she saw as encroaching darkness, he saw as opportunity.

As they hopped the fence in front of the shrieking shack, her scream shot through him like poison quickening in blood.

"Fuck! Fuck this fucking fence! Ow!"

Her leg had caught on the exposed wire of the fence, and her robe had tangled around it. He touched her arm but she jerked him away.

"Christ, Lily, will you let me-"

"Don't," she said. "I can do it."

A dark patch of blood spread out from the back of her knee and soaked through her tights. She gritted her teeth.

"Use your wand, then," he said, exasperated. "If you don't, then I will."

"Shut up for a second and let me think," she hissed, her voice strained with agony.

With difficulty, she reached for her wand, swiped it at the place where the loose, rusty wire had torn her leg open, and her robes came free.

She jumped down, still cursing under her breath.

"This was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have come," she said. She looked down at her leg. "It's going to take ages to get to the hospital wing."

He pointed his wand at her and began muttering a counter-curse of his own invention, a sort of antidote to _Sectum Sempra_. It was a wordy incantation and he almost fell into a trance while casting it. She felt the spell move across her and she looked at him, livid.

"Sev!"

Her voice broke his focus and he staggered back a little, dazed.

"Stop!"

"Don't be stupid. You just split your fucking leg open," he said.

"You can't just _do_ that without asking."

He stared at her, uncomprehending. She stared back, green eyes liquid with unshed tears of pain.

"What the hell was that, anyway? That's not _Standard Book of Spells Grade Five_."

"No."

"And what is it, then? Dark magic?"

"You know it's not." He pressed his skinny fingers against his temples and scraped his hair back from his face.

Something in her gaze softened. "How bad is it?" she asked.

He looked, only because she was giving him the opportunity to gaze at her unapologetically. Her leg was still blossoming with a wide rose of blood. "I don't know. Pretty bad."

She sighed. "Look, I'm going to go back to school. Mary MacDonald's still in the hospital wing. I said I'd visit. Now I have no excuse. And I don't think you should come. She thinks you had something to do with it."

He popped his jaw and flexed his fingers, agitated. "Fine."

"I'll see you later."

"Right."

"Please don't be difficult."

"S'fine. Shrieking shack's shit, anyway. It's not even haunted," he said.

A line appeared between her brows. "But it is haunted. Most haunted dwelling in Britain. I thought that's why you wanted to come."

"No. It isn't."

She glanced at the shack. It looked like a splinter in the earth, jagged and dangerous.

"Alright," she said. "I should go. It's a long walk."

He watched her descend the hill, which was covered in spring flowers of violent yellow hue.

She would come around about Mulciber and Avery. She would have to. He would make her see reason. She had said they were still best friends.

She turned back and shot him a rueful smile before rounding a corner and disappearing from view.

He peeled the packaging off the sugar quill she had bought him and sucked the sharp, saccharine nib. It was bracingly, offensively sweet. But he allowed the sticky sugar to dissolve on his tongue along with a host of things he wanted to say to her.


	7. The Long Walk Home

He leaned against the saggy, threadbare arm of the sofa, his feet tucked under him. In this house, Severus usually endeavored to make himself as small as possible. He reread his handwritten notes, his eyes straining to read his own cramped script in the low light. But he did not dare turn on a lamp. It would wake _them_ up. It would be much easier if he could just cast a charm, but he was at home, and sixteen, and with OWLs weeks away, he did not need the bother of some underage sorcery inquiry.

_The will o' the wisp lures unwary wanderers to their deaths by a combination of..._

He tried to focus. He drummed his fingers on his forehead as if to give order to his wandering thoughts, but they strayed anyway, wild and rambling, like feral cats. He kept thinking of her. What was she doing. Who was she with just now. Who was looking at her. He kept vigil over the fireplace, waiting for her return, fraught and irritated.

His mother's owl tapped her beak against the window. He got up and let her in, unlatching the window delicately, soundlessly. She gave him a haughty look as she flew into the kitchen, where she perched for most of the day. The Snape household did not get a lot of mail.

Iphigenia. What an insipid name for a bird, he thought, listening to her chew up a spider. He returned to his notes.

_-strangling them to death over a protracted period and taking particular pleasure in the mutilation of-_

Flashes of copper and green kept intruding on his thoughts. That clingy yellow jumper she had been wearing. The plait of her hair. Surely she should be back by now. It had been at least four hours. How long did this sort of thing usually last?

Being underage, Lily was not allowed to use magic over the Easter holidays, either, but she had solved this by the simple expedient of borrowing the Floo at his house. She had a bit of a saving-people thing, which lately seemed to take her in an annoyingly far-flung directions. Tonight she was off comforting Frank Longbottom's girlfriend, whose grandmother had passed away unexpectedly.

He forced himself back to his notes again, bending his head myopically low over the paper.

_-which must be cauterized by flame, lest the infection spread and kill the host..._

.*.*.*.

She had become quite pretty, Frank Longbottom thought as he watched Lily step across the marble hearth and scoop up a handful of glittering Floo powder.

He had noticed, too, that she was not fully aware of her effect on the poor Snape boy. They were a very odd pair indeed- she was bright and open, he was dark and closed. They were also plainly at ideological loggerheads with each other. She was tolerant to a fault, but she was also political, and that did not bode well for their continued friendship, because the boy was clearly into some dark stuff.

"See you in a minute," she said. "Nineteen, Spinner's End."

Green flames engulfed her as she spun and spun.

Frank looked back at Alice, who was half-asleep on the divan, her eyes red and puffy. She had started knitting to distract herself from grief, and there were now several yards of knobbly purple muffler strewn across her lap. He extracted the knitting needles from her balled fists with a _Summoning_ spell.

"Did Lil go?" she asked groggily.

"Yes," he said.

"And you?" she yawned.

"Heading out now. Had to stop you stabbing yourself in your sleep, though."

"Heroic of you," she said.

"Oh, I am definitely that," he said. "Floo me tomorrow, yeah? I'll bring you some chipolatas. Or whatever you like. By the way, your houseplant's started muttering again."

"Just leave it," she said. "It'll shut up if no one pays it any attention."

.*.*.*.

A flash of green light announced her arrival.

"Hullo, Sev," Lily said, stepping lightly onto the carpet, careful not to track soot onto it. Not that anyone would have been able to tell, given the state of it, he thought.

He tried to look up casually, as if he had not been waiting for her in that exact spot for four hours.

"Still studying?" she asked.

"It's six weeks until OWLs, Lil," he hissed.

He directed his gaze anywhere but at her chest. That jumper was going to be his undoing.

"Yeah, but, you know, holidays. Take a break sometime. Recharge the old neurons." She tapped her temple.

An awkward silence passed between them. It hadn't always been like this. In the old days, they had kept up a constant stream of banter. Before Hogwarts, it was her questions about wizards and his answers. Later, it was secrets, homework, gossip. Now, all too often, it was... this.

They could both hear Iphigenia scratching at the back of a chair in the other room.

"Alright. Fancy a thrilling game of gobstones?" he deadpanned.

Her nose wrinkled in that particular way it always did just before she laughed. His heart leapt.

There was another flash of green light, and Frank Longbottom appeared. He had a lanky, aristocratic bearing, even after hurtling through half the fireplaces in England. He was also older and taller than Severus, as well as irksomely good-looking, albeit in a slightly bucktoothed way.

"I didn't realize you were coming," Severus said, annoyed. "Forgive me for my lack of hospitality. Had I known-"

"Not to worry," said Frank. "I promised my mother I would walk her home. I'll Apparate straightaway after that, so I won't trouble you again. Would've done side-along Apparition, but you lot aren't allowed to do magic outside school. Thanks again for coming, Lil."

"Tell her again how sorry I am for her loss," she said. "And to send for me again if she likes."

"I will," Frank said.

Severus glared at Frank. He rankled at the intimate, husky-voiced way he was speaking to Lily. True, he had a girlfriend, Severus thought, but who in their right mind would look at Alice next to Lily. Alice looked like a children's storybook Snow White, round-faced, long-waisted. Lily, by contrast, looked like the most beautiful thing Severus had ever seen- a stained-glass icon of Saint Agnes in the church where his father had dragged him to Mass as a boy. The saint, like Lily, had long red hair and bright green eyes. He had fixated on this image before he had even met Lily. Sometimes he wondered if it was because of this image that he had gravitated toward her in the first place.

Saint Agnes: patron saint of chastity, if memory served.

Frank cleared his throat. "Well, we won't intrude on you any further. Would you show us the door?"

"I'm coming with you," Severus said.

Lily bristled. "It's fine, Sev," she said. "Honestly. We're not living in the middle ages. I can manage a walk through the suburbs without a chaperone."

"Did you not five minutes ago advise me to take a break?" he asked petulantly.

She shifted her school bag on her shoulder and looked at Frank. "Right then. Shall we? I'm due back at ten."

.*.*.*.

They crossed the rickety wooden bridge over the river. Frank took up the rear, watching the pair of them from a few paces behind. Their long hair was momentarily silhouetted by the headlamps of passing automobiles- hers red-gold, his black.

"There goes your little friend," Severus said, pointing to a fox who was running along the river bank. The barest trace of a smile crossed his thin mouth.

"Ooh, she's gotten quite fat," she said.

"Up the duff, more like," he muttered.

"Florence, dear, are you with child?" she called down to the fox in an uncanny impersonation of Professor McGonagall.

Frank snorted at her.

"Sev does a wicked Dumbledore. Won't do it on command, though," she said, aiming a playful kick at him. "Shame. I do enjoy hearing Dumbledore say naughty things."

Frank resumed the line of questioning he had started on the way out the door.

"What about that Slytherin girl in your year, Narcissa? She's quite fetching."

"I don't like blondes," said Severus.

Frank snickered and Lily let out a surprised chirp of a laugh.

"What?" Severus asked, looking agitated.

"I've never actually heard you talk about girls," she said.

"I don't want to talk about her," he said. "She's a stuck-up little bint."

"Thought you Slytherins were thick as thieves," Frank continued.

They had reached a tall wooden fence. Apparently this was a shortcut, though Frank could not see what they were supposed to do now, especially without the use of magic.

"Some of us are. Doesn't mean I want to take Narcissa to Hogsmeade."

Wordlessly, Severus lifted Lily onto his shoulder so that she could hoist herself up the fence. Instead of jumping over, she balanced on the edge, stretched her arm down to him, and pulled him up to her. They had clearly done this many, many times; it was like a sort of dance. Moreover, although neither of them could be described as particularly graceful on their own, they moved together in an easy, practiced way.

They stood on the fence, both small and lithe, balanced on the arches of their feet like birds on a telephone wire. Her scuffed green trainers and his black, second-hand boots.

"Want a hand?" she called down to Frank.

"I can manage," Frank said.

"Suit yourself," she said, disappearing over the fence.

Severus jumped down after her. Frank could hear their voices on the other side.

"What are those? Parliaments?" Severus asked.

"You hate them," she said.

"Yeah, but you owe me for last time," he said. "Go on."

"Have you got a light?"

"Yeah."

When Frank had clambered over the fence and landed on the other side, he found Lily and Severus smoking cigarettes and gazing at each other in that estranged way again.

They were now in the middle of a derelict playground. The slide was covered in graffiti, some of it obscene, and the seats of the swings had been stolen. The dangling chains hung still in the windless night.

They walked on.

Spring weeds had pushed up through the cracks in the road. Periodically, Lily reached down to pick a few and stuff them into her bag.

"Potioner's habit," she said, smiling at Frank. She fished a small red box out of her bag and offered it to him. "Want a pepper imp?" she asked.

"You keep pepper imps in your bag?" Frank laughed. "Are you that fond of having steam come out your ears?"

"I was going to give it to Petunia. Had a change of heart, though," she said.

Severus laughed softly. "I will if you won't," he said.

"No, really, it will upset her. I'm afraid I've quite put her off magic," she sighed.

"Why do you care what she thinks?" asked Severus, kicking a patch of grass in front of him.

"Because she's my sister. She may be a cow-"

"Or horse-" he interjected.

"But she's family," she said.

"Come on, just one pepper imp. It'll be a laugh," Severus pushed on.

"How is that any different from muggle baiting?" she asked harshly.

"Because she _knows_ you're a witch, Lil. It isn't the same thing. Besides-"

" _No_ ," she said in a tone of righteous indignation.

For a split second, Severus seemed like he wanted to retort, but instead he scoffed at her and walked ahead. She glared at the back of his head.

"Sorry about him," she said quietly to Frank. "He and my sister have never been bosom friends."

"Don't worry yourself on my account," Frank said.

"How are you and Al?" she asked, clearly feeling a need for a change of subject. "Still mad for each other?"

"Very," he said, unable to suppress a grin.

"Good," she said brightly. "I'll expect an invitation to your wedding."

You had to hand it to Severus, thought Frank. He had kept his cards very close to his chest. Lily did not seem to know that he was deeply in love with her.

It was not generally known that he did so; most of the school, if they noticed at all, seemed to assume their relationship was either an angsty, one-sided crush or the residue of some childhood pact, either of which would burn out in due course. Until tonight, Frank had assumed the former.

Now, though, he had seen them in their native habitat, and there was no question in his mind. The boy had allowed Lily to think of him as a friend, a best friend- he had encouraged it, fostered it, and was even now passing off his frustrated desire as friendly sniping- but in the moments when she looked away, and particularly when he had dutifully, reverently lifted her onto that high fence, it was clear that there was much more below the surface.

The only question, in fact, was how Lily would feel about it, if indeed her smitten friend would ever clue her in.

But then, of course, there was his whole fascination-with-the-dark-arts thing, a black hole slowly sucking everything else toward itself, canceling it out.

Watching them, Frank felt like he was standing near a house of cards, trying not to breathe.

.*.*.*.

They rounded a corner into Lily's picturesque, middle-class neighborhood. The Evans' old navy Ford was parked at the end of the street.

Severus waited for Lily to catch up to him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"It's alright," she said. "You've been studying too hard. You're not yourself."

His eyes met hers for a long second. Green into black.

She turned to Frank, who had just caught up. "This is me. You can tell your mother I got home safely."

"Much obliged. Goodnight, Lil," Frank said, embracing her briskly.

Severus dug his nails into his palm with suppressed jealousy.

When Frank and Lily broke apart, there was an awkward moment. Then Lily seemed to make up her mind and made a move toward Severus.

Severus wondered if she was only hugging him out of fairness. She had lately fallen out of the habit of touching him. He froze, his hands in his pockets, as her pale arm slid across his cheek and wrapped around his neck.

He knew her body without ever having seen it in its entirety. Years of proximity had granted him this precious knowledge piece-by-piece, the data of a thousand stolen glances. He knew the burn on the inside of her left wrist from pickling a batch of toads and the small, indented scar across her cheek, a souvenir of the whomping willow. So he could guess how it would feel to press her into him, to close the gap between their bodies, to rest one finger on each of the two little dimples at the top of her hips. He wanted to. But he didn't. His hands never left his pockets.

She sighed. Her warm breath pooled in the concave shallows of his ear. In response, his blood rushed to redistribute itself in some truly inconvenient ways. He desperately hoped she would not notice.

As she pulled away, her expression was oddly bereft.

Before he could ask her about it, Lily bade them goodnight again, smiled weakly, and opened the door.

Petunia was sitting at the kitchen table. She frowned over her shoulder, her face bathed in the blue light of the television.

"See you at school," Lily said, shutting the door behind her.

They could hear Petunia muttering something catty and Lily launching into an impassioned tirade.

"I don't have sisters. Do you?" asked Frank, clearly keen to make pleasant conversation.

Severus' mouth was still half-open, as if it had not received the message from his brain that she was gone, that he would not be able to ask her what she meant by that weirdly wistful expression. He shook himself out of his reverie.

"No," he answered.

Frank shot him a meaningful look that he could not decipher.

"You know, she worries about you. She talks about you. A lot," Frank said.

Severus said nothing. Frank's face was still inscrutable, as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.

"Look, I for one don't think you can tell everything about a person from what they're like at sixteen. So I don't care to judge you," said Frank. "All I will say is this. Think on your priorities. It's not too late to change them."

Then he smiled toothily, turned on the spot, and Disapparated with a soft pop.

Severus kicked irritatedly at nothing in particular, wondering what that patronizing little speech was supposed to mean. _Think on your priorities._ One thing he was sure of, though, was that Frank Longbottom was a meddling, superior know-it-all and an upper-class twit.

He lingered at the edge of orange light cast by the street lamp and smoked another cigarette.

He gazed at Lily's upstairs window. Her shadow fell across the curtains, backlit by the chandelier in the hall. She turned on her stereo and the muffled sounds of glam rock drifted down to the street. Her snub-nosed gray housecat appeared on the roof, slinked down a drain pipe, and rubbed its back against her window pane.

She opened the window to pick up the cat. She had changed into her pajamas, which were blue and mismatched. Her toothbrush was hanging out of one side of her mouth.

She did not notice he was there. He waited silently for a long time, feeling like the world's most pathetic Romeo.

After half an hour, he stubbed out his third cigarette on a neighbor's mailbox and walked alone into the dark.


	8. Venoms and Their Antidotes

Severus rifled through his lopsided bookshelf until he found it. His copy of _Venoms and Their Antidotes_ , which Lily had once said she wanted to borrow for a Potions project.

It was she who truly loved Potions. He had always preferred Defense. But he had fallen in love with Potions because _she_ loved it. He had never been able to put his affection for her into words, so Potions became the poetry and practice of love for him. He coaxed liquids to change from violet to heliotrope the way he would have wanted to coax a blush into her cheeks. He mastered complex knife work the way most boys his age mastered unhooking a bra one-handed. He had never kissed her, but she had let him taste her through the proxy of her delicately concocted elixirs and essences. He now hoped that Potions could resurrect their friendship, too.

This particular copy of _Venoms and Their Antidotes_ had once been his mother's and was now out of print. The book was slim, bound in green leather, and on the inside cover it bore a curious illustration of a lizard curled around a rose. Severus tucked the book under his arm and made a half-hearted attempt at combing his hair before leaving his bedroom.

As he passed through the kitchen, his mother did not look up from her coffee and cigarette. The yellow, peeling wallpaper reflected unflattering fluorescent light on her sallow, drawn face. Her fingers shook with caffeine and nicotine and anxiety. Severus had long since given up trying to shake her out of her depressive moods. The only mercy afforded to them both was that his father was out.

Severus left Spinner's End and walked to Lily's house without much incident. He smoked a cigarette and tried to remember whether there had been quite so much graffiti on the playground the last time he had cut across it. There was an especially vulgar image of a grotesque cock and balls painted on a low cement wall near the swings. That was new.

This was his third attempt at an apology this summer. The last time he'd come over unannounced, Lily's father had answered the door, saying that Lily wasn't home, that she was staying with relatives. The time before that, Petunia had come to the door and told him to "sod off back to Spinner's End, because she's too good for you and you know it." Petunia had looked as though she had surprised even herself with that outburst.

Severus knocked on Lily's door and waited. A butterfly bobbed above the summer flowers in the tidy front garden.

Mercifully, miraculously, Lily opened the door. She was wearing patched jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. She stared at him and didn't say anything. She looked exhausted, as if his presence depleted her of something vital. As if he sucked out all the oxygen from her air.

The day was bright and hot and Severus could feel the sun on the back of his neck. If this were only a staring contest, he probably could have won. But Lily lost patience with him and started to swing the door shut. Before she could close it, however, he darted forward, pushed the book into her hand, and made a soft huff of aborted apology.

He spun on his heel and swept down the street, scaring a neighbor's dog. The dog barked, and then another dog down the block barked, which set off a chain reaction, and for half a mile Severus had to endure the shrill yaps of terriers and the deep woofs of Labradors.

She returned the book by owl the following day, with a note three words long:

_Just stop, S._

In the end, he did what she asked. 


	9. Diamonds in the Dark

"I see I'm not the only one who finds the Malfoys' society affairs rather tedious," he said.

She spun around. White-blonde hair, narrowed eyes, pointed features. Her ivory party dress was iridescent, backless, and her skin moonlit, almost bluish. She was so pale and composed that she might have been a ghost or a Veela, but she was a witch. A sixteen-year-old witch.

"Severus," she said, nodding and raising her flute of champagne at him.

"Narcissa," he replied.

"I don't," she said.

"Find them tedious?"

"No," she said.

He smirked at her and lit a cigarette with a swift, practiced hand. She gave him a tight-lipped look, as if she felt ruffled by his gaze. As if she detected desire in it. He didn't bother to correct this impression. Although he found her objectively pretty, she was not his type at all. (His type, of course, was middle-class, red-headed muggleborns with freckles and mismatched socks, but that was well out of reach now, thanks to his smart mouth last June.)

He looked away from her, out over the dark shrubs and still statues of the Malfoys' garden, and exhaled.

"Must you do that here?" she asked.

"I thought that's what these towering hedges in manor gardens were for. To provide the privacy in which to indulge one's vices."

"Can you keep it away from me, please?"

When he did not respond, she snapped her fingers at him, and he noticed the huge, glittering ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. She wasn't yet of age, but she was already spoken for, apparently.

"Congratulations," he drawled, nodding his head at the ring.

"What? Oh. Thank you."

"When?" he asked, leaning in to admire the thing in the way he supposed one ought to.

"Yesterday. Damn it, Severus, I asked you to keep that away from me."

"Afraid I'll taint you by association?"

"No."

"I'm sure Lucius can afford much more, ah, _interesting_ substances. More aesthetically pleasing. More suitable for you both."

"Yes, I'm sure he can," she said sharply.

He took this to mean that she had not yet taken advantage of her intended's considerable financial resources. He pondered that for a moment and grew silent, lost in thought.

She sighed agitatedly and looked heavenward, as if in prayer or repentance.

"Well, go on," she said, opening her palm expectantly. She might have been addressing a house elf.

He blinked at her.

"Didn't your mother teach you to share? You're driving me insane," she said.

His smirk deepened. He was pleased to see that her haughty affect had a few holes in it.

"I'm trying to quit," she said. Now she sounded whiny and guilty, like a schoolgirl. Which she was, technically.

"Better make this your last, then," he chided.

He pulled another cigarette from the pocket of his robes and handed it to her. She slipped it into her prim little mouth and leaned in toward him for a light, her long hair falling onto his shoulder. She pressed the tip of her cigarette against his, and the orange embers spread between them, like a burning kiss.

She drew back, took a long pull, and exhaled blue-white smoke in a delicate, poised way. More poised than Lily ever was, if he was being honest, because half the time Lily was laughing or running her mouth off.

"Are those your school robes, Severus?"

"So what if they are."

"I don't know if Lucius told you, but this is rather a formal dress occasion."

"I gathered that much myself, thanks."

"Well, at least they're black."

"Yes, at least there is that," he said sarcastically.

She drained her champagne and set the glass on top of a marble pedestal. He guessed it was her fourth or fifth champagne, judging by the lateness of the hour, but she did not seem discomposed at all. Ten points to Narcissa, for holding her liquor.

The dark manor garden was silent except for the babbling of a fountain and the muffled chamber music issuing from inside the lavish hall. The night was cloudless and warm, and the stars twinkled like Narcissa's diamond.

"You're looking more dour than usual. What's happened to you?" she asked.

"Nothing's happened to me."

She quirked a blonde eyebrow at him. "It's that girl. That Gryffindor girl you're always running round with."

"No."

"Really." Now it was her turn to smirk at him.

"I don't give a damn about her," he said.

"Hmm. Curious. I heard you threatened to sleep outside her dormitory at the end of term."

"Who told you that?" he asked defensively.

"I have an ear to the ground. And a lot of friends. You could do with some more friends, Severus. Especially if James Potter intends to continue his campaign of aerial aggression against you. Nice pants, by the way."

He scowled and started shredding the leaves off a nearby rosebush.

"I'm offering, Severus. Having a little fun at your expense, yes, but also offering."

He grunted. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're not exactly socializing, though, are you?"

"Neither are you."

"On the contrary. I'm forging alliances."

He shot another scowl at her.

"I mean you, Severus. Strange though you undoubtedly are, you're also an asset. You're clever. And Lucius thinks very highly of you."

She offered her slim, pale hand to him, and again that smirk played across her mouth. He took her hand in his and shook it slowly.

"Nice to meet you, Narcissa Malfoy," he said, now smirking himself.

"There, see? New friends. It's not so difficult," she said.

Her nails were impractically long, and he could feel them, sharp against his palm. He mused, fleetingly, that this was the longest sustained physical contact he'd ever had with a woman.

After a moment, she stepped toward him and slid her other hand up the inside of his left arm. He held still, unmoved by her cool, clinical touch. She was searching, he realized, for evidence of the Mark. She probably expected him to either jump back in fright or show it off. But he did not have it yet. He shook his head at her.

"I thought not," she said.

"And you don't, either, I see," he said, because her bare arms made that plain.

"No," she said.

They regarded one another with curiosity as their cigarettes burnt down to nothing. A white peacock appeared on the hedge and called its strange, piercing shriek into the night.

They felt a little like traitors, standing here together in the dark garden while Lucius' friends made their plans in the house on the hill.

Traitors to the cause.

One day, they both would be.


	10. Whinging

Frank Longbottom devoured yet another Jaffa cake while Lily dumped sugar into her Earl Grey. They played a few rounds of exploding snap at his kitchen table. She regarded him as he shuffled the cards.

Age had done him a few favors. No longer the chubby, bucktoothed fourth-year she remembered from their first meeting, he had developed angles and long, lean lines, and he now resembled one of the Monty Python blokes whose name she could not recall. The fanciable one.

"Thanks for rescuing me," she said.

"Happy to. I remember summers without magic, when I was your age. They're crap."

"Yeah. They are."

He dealt the cards.

"Can I ask you a serious question?" she asked.

"Sure," he said.

"This fight you just had with Alice – you didn't actually harm one another?" she asked.

"Only psychologically."

"Alright. I mean, not _alright,_ but you know what I mean."

She remembered another row, years ago, overheard through the walls of Sev's bedroom – Eileen and Tobias tearing each other apart, and although Sev had learned not to flinch, Lily never had... So she'd had to check.

"Yes, Alice knows exactly where to stick the knife in. I'll grant her that," he said. The three cards he was holding burst into flame.

"Draw," Lily said. "Sorry."

"I could do with some more of your cheerful Muggle expressions, Lily. What's the one?"

"Zowie," she said.

"Yeah," he said, smiling for the first time in hours. "I like that one."

"Glad I amuse. So is Alice moving out, or are you still together?"

"I have no fucking idea."

"But you still love her."

"Yeah. Because I'm a pansy."

One of Lily's cards began to smoke dangerously. She held them as far away from her face as possible.

"Now _I_ get to ask _you_ a question," he said.

"Ask away."

"What happened with you and Snape? You were all chummy when I was at school with you. I thought you usually spent summers with him. I thought that was your thing."

She could feel herself shoot flaming daggers at him with her eyes.

"Shit. Sorry. That was out of order, wasn't it," he said.

"Not your fault. Don't worry about it."

"That was a crap question."

"It's a crap situation. I know you weren't there. Some of the blame must go to James effing Potter, who thought it would be terribly droll to set a levicorpus spell on him in front of half the school. Do you know Severus invented that spell? Ugh."

"Haven't ever heard of it."

"Well, no, I suppose you wouldn't have. It's a recent invention. But it's become very popular at Hogwarts. Anyway, Sev said some things that I know he regrets, but he doesn't regret them for the right reasons. He's turned into a right bastard, actually. God, I can't believe I'm whinging to you about this shit. I told myself I would never speak about it again."

"I like your whinging. It goes well with my kvetching."

She sighed. "I loved him, you know. And if he loved me, he wouldn't be doing what he's doing. He'd be fighting You-Know-Who instead of joining him. Anyway, I should have seen it coming. He was always saying horrible things about Muggles. God, Petunia was right about him."

The deck burst into flame and singed their eyebrows.

"Want to play another round?" he asked, summoning the teapot again.

"Actually, I was hoping I could entice you to play the piano," she said, gesturing at the three-legged instrument in the middle of the sitting room. "I miss you playing the one in the Gryffindor common room. Nobody else can play the damn thing. Some people have guitars, but it's not the same."

"I will. But only if you sing. Do you like pop songs or sappy nineteenth century stuff?"

She grinned. "Alice is a fool. I would marry you tomorrow."

"Thanks. But you're way too young for me, Lily. And not nearly psychotic enough."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Now you're just being mean to Alice."

"Yes. I am. But you haven't seen her in Auror training. She can duel three people at once. THREE. _Nobody_ does that. Nobody sane, anyway. And she stunned our instructor twice the first day."

"I bet it's cute when she does it."

"Yeah, cute and terrifying. This is the woman I love. Ugh."

She kicked him under the table. "Just marry her and have done with it, you prat."

He rolled his eyes. "Pick a song, any song, and I'll play it."

" _Find Me Somebody to Love_."

"Oh, I've never done that one. You'll have to help me figure it out. You're musical, aren't you?"

She kicked him again. "Stop being charming or I really will come over there and snog you."

He sighed. "Christ, Lily. I'm trying to be a gentleman."

She raised her eyebrows. "What are you saying?"

He buried his face in his hands. "You ring me up all breathless and ask me to get you the hell out of Cokeworth, and you sit here in my kitchen being surly and adorable. You know surly is my kryptonite. And in case you hadn't noticed, you're sixteen, I'm twenty. It would be wildly inappropriate for me to consent to your advances."

She scooted closer to him and put her head down next to his. "Hey. Look. Let's make one of those pacts. If we're both still single in ten years, let's marry each other."

"Pfft. Ten years is not that long."

"It is when there's a war on."

"Alright. There's something to that." He opened his hands and looked at her. "Alright, I do feel cheered up a bit. This helps. This is helping."

"Good," she said. She kissed his cheek. "But we both know that will never happen. You'll marry Alice and make tons of frighteningly gifted wizard babies."

"And what will you do?"

"Oh. Practice celibacy and teach Potions at Hogwarts. And plot against You-Know-Who in my spare time."

"What, like some kind of warrior-professor-nun?"

"Yep. That's almost certainly what will happen."

He snorted at her. "Fat chance. Ten galleons says you marry some good-looking cad with a heart of gold."

"Could still do the other stuff, though."

He crossed to the piano and played an arpeggio. "How does this go? I know the chorus is 'find me somebody to love,' but how does it start?"

She followed him and sang a capella. He vamped for a while and then launched into the first verse. They fell into harmony, and the wounds on their hearts fleshed over.


	11. Epilogue: Camelot

Slughorn's parties irked him. Severus suspected that Slughorn didn't really want him there, for one thing. Lily Evans had had a standing invitation to all Slug Club events since her third year, but only now, halfway into his seventh year of magical education, had Severus been invited to this august gathering of rising stars, talented prats, swots, twats, and know-it-alls.  
  
Perhaps, after Severus' exceptional Potions performance in preparation for NEWTs, Slughorn thought it too impolitic _not_ to invite him. Unlike the quick flash of Charms or the queasy danger of Transfiguration, Potions gave Severus an outlet for thought, for calculation. But truthfully, he loved Defense best. It came easily to him, after a lifetime of domestic abuse, after scraping along as a penniless halfblood in a house full of well-off purebloods, and to his surprise, even better after he lost Lily. Lily cracked his defenses. Or _had_. And now that she loathed him, and there were no more vaguely romantic walks across the grounds (hands never quite touching), he had hardened, solidified. He'd grown taller, too. He actually fit fairly well in the costume he'd borrowed from Avery - a knight's silver mail. It was long enough, though loose around his narrow hips.  
  
Slughorn's chamber was hot and hazy and crammed with students and teachers in fancy dress. Costumes, some homemade, some modified with clever charmwork. Idiot theme, though: Arthurian legend. There were at least seventeen Merlins, all sporting foot-long beards and spangled snoods.  
  
Severus spotted Narcissa lounging in a velvet armchair, looking bored and beautiful. A pair of eager fifth-year Ravenclaw boys were attempting to chat her up, and she silently amused herself by pretending they did not exist. Her pale eyes flicked up for a moment and met his own. He gave her a millimeter-wide smirk, which she mirrored back at him. Such was their friendship: the nearly imperceptible smiles of the two best Occlumens in the entire school. Not that anyone else knew they were.  
  
Behind her, Mulciber pursued a pretty, stuck-up Lady of the Lake who kept ducking behind the hangings and scrims. A couple of famous Quidditch players made a ruckus over some regional rivalry, and a bossy-looking Ministry witch scowled at them. Severus did not particularly wish to talk to anyone here. He thought about leaving, or, at minimum, slipping outside for a fag, but he seemed to be stuck at the center of a revolving knot of people, pressed limb to limb, and he could not quite escape.  
  
And then, suddenly, there she was: Guinevere. Quite literally – wearing a faux tiara and everything. He would have scoffed at the irony if it wasn't so fucking _personal_.  
  
She was beautiful, her long red hair braided with white ribbons, her bare shoulders exposed above a green gown of vaguely medieval proportions. And a lot of skin. Peachy, clean, heartbreaking skin. Lily. Seventeen and staggering.  
  
Unexpectedly, she pushed her way toward him through the throng of costumed students and teachers, sliding her mask up her forehead and into her hair. She smiled at him. No, _beamed_. His insides gave a dull lurch, remembering how they used to feel around her. Part of him wanted to run for it, but she had him pinned there, with that gaze and that bright buoyant aura and the crowd, the inadvisably dense crowd - definitely a fire hazard.  
  
She waved at him. Unnecessarily, as she was about three feet from him. He did not wave back as she closed the last few inches between them, pushing past a sweaty King Arthur in a flimsy paper crown.  
  
And then she was right in front of him.  
  
"Good evening, Lancelot," she sniggered.  
  
Severus pressed his mask closer to his face, covering his mouth with his hand. God, he'd tried to hate her. He really had. It could not be done.  
  
"I still think vicars and tarts would've been simpler," she said.  
  
Glitter twinkled on her eyelids, flashing like sunlight on water.  
  
"I suppose," he replied. He could not fathom why Lily was speaking to him after so long. She had not spoken to him in nearly two years, and the friendly tone in her voice made him ache.  
  
“You'd make a lovely tart, for example,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Bit of rouge. Racy lingerie.”  
  
He had no idea how to respond. Then her hands were on him, tracing along the cool silver mail. He noticed that her nailpolish was chipped. He had always loved her bizarre little imperfections, her Mugglish habits. Ironic, considering.  
  
“You old pureblood families must have loads of this stuff lying around. Magical armor. Old shields, medieval relics," she said. "Myself, I had to transfigure my disco dress. Ooh, look at that bloke there, the knight. His charmwork's worn off completely. A case of the Emperor's new clothes. Tragic. Ha!”  
  
She glanced up, toward him, but not directly into his eyes, and then she continued scanning the crowd for amusing sights. More Merlins. A few revisionist Morgan le Feys with low-cut gowns. The bottom half of a two-person dragon costume, abandoned by his partner - just a tail and a pair of floppy purple wings.  
  
Then she nudged him softly in the crook of his elbow.  
  
"Anyway Padfoot, if you see Prongs, tell him I'm looking for him, yeah? We have a bit of a wager going, and there are ten galleons riding on it,” she said. “Also, don't tell him, but I've already spent the galleons on his birthday present. So it's rather important that I win. And - oh! I've just seen Moony. I think he's supposed to be Sir Gawain. Catch up later?"  
  
Before Severus had fully registered that Lily did not know who she was addressing, that she had mistaken him for Sirius (was it the hair?), her arms were around him in a warm, sisterly hug. He could smell her, and it was just like he remembered, just exactly the same scent as Amortentia - wildflowers and books and the sweet summer grass of a particular playground. He rested his hands at the small of her back and gently pressed her closer, and felt an uncomfortable erotic thrill as she melted into him, exhaling. She intended this embrace for someone else, and he knew it.  
  
She pulled back, smiling curiously.  
  
"Have you got over your cold yet? You still sound odd," she said.  
  
"I'm... fine," he said.  
  
She bit her lip thoughtfully.  
  
"Alright. Feel better, Lancelot," she said.  
  
She leaned close, gave him a chaste peck on the cheek, and then disappeared into the warm crush of bodies.  
  
He watched her go, stricken. In a room full of Guineveres, she was the only one he would swear to obey and love eternally.  
  
Mulciber caught up with Severus and beckoned him into the corridor with a sly jerk of the head. Severus followed, closing the door on the party, and Slughorn, and Lily.  
  
But that kiss followed him back to the dungeons, and he remembered it in dreams, long after she was gone.  
  


  



End file.
